


turn cold

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Hipsters, Loki is a music snob, M/M, Sex, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, bartender! thor, hipster bar au, rockstar! sif
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:45:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Asgard is a semi-seedy nightclub where Thor tends bar. It's the night of the big punk show-- Sif and the Warriors Three are headlining. Thor is hopelessly distracted when a young man with pale skin and  messy hair takes a seat at the bar. Several dozen drinks, one trip to the hospital and two arguments later, Thor is in over his head-- probably for the rest of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. wait up!

* * *

 

     The opening band was shit. Their set dragged on forever in some kind of electro-funk fever dream. Around the stage, the crowd was getting restless. The headliners were late by forty five minutes, no surprise there, but the absolute mess onstage was driving people up the stairs to the bar. They congregated around the taps, a flock of black leather and colorful hair. The bartender glanced nervously around, waving a muscular arm toward a server for help.

     The Asgard was the home of choice for the young, hip and desperate. A sprawling madhouse of a club, it sat on the corner of a one-way street and took up three lots on the antique block. The downstairs stage, a wide slab cut in red and black, was _the_ venue in town, as long as you were poor and pretentious. Tonight was a punk show, in theory, but the openers were embarrassing everyone. The upstairs, consisting of a bar, a sometime restaurant and another, tinier stage, was now full of agitated college dropouts.

     “Man, fuck this,” a young man with pink hair and a nose stud was shouting over the music, “how do you deal with this every night?”

     Behind the bar, a chiseled figure with brilliant blue eyes was smiling patiently. He took a moment to pull long golden hair back into a messy bun. He looked out of place amongst the aggressively fashionable patrons, in a tight grey shirt and old jeans.

     “It grows on you,” he yelled back through the twanging echo of a keytar. His steady hands reached for a glass and opened the back fridge for a cider.

     “You’re a fucking saint,” the kid accepted his drink and made a ‘cheers’ motion, “you’re the backbone of this establishment. This waste of an establishment.”

     “Watch your mouth,” the bartender flashed a smile, “it’s _my_ waste of an establishment.”

     The kid knocked on the dark wooden bar, “Thor Odinson, king of cheap beer and whatever the fuck we’re listening to.”

     Thor laughed, nodding a goodbye as his pink-haired regular slid away into the crowd. A few more ill-timed jangling noises from the downstairs flushed the remainder of the audience up to the bar and Thor had to call in two more servers to help him. He directed them like a cop in traffic. Most of the drinks went to the right people. Every now and then, Thor would see a glass being slung down the bar between helpful customers who’d received each other’s beer. He bit back a number of heavy sighs.

     After another ten minutes of hell, there was a commotion at the front door as a cheer went up from the crowd. The band had arrived. Framed in the door, they looked like legends. They might as well have been.

     Sif and the Warriors Three were old school pop punk, violence-centric and capable of reducing a club to rubble. Their star was on the rise, and everyone knew it. It would be a matter of months before they were too big to come back home. Sif was bathed in the yellow light of the front windows, black hair and metal jewelry shining like armor. Her boys stood behind her, shaking tattooed hands with their fans. She noticed Thor watching and waved. A few of her fans turned to look at him with jealous expressions.

     He waved back. Sif was one of his oldest friends in town, and they’d struck up a camaraderie back when her band was doing matinee cover shows. They had dated; she’d punched him in the face once. They were best friends.

     The fans practically carried the band downstairs, and Thor could hear cheering from below as the offending act was kicked out. Within seconds, the upstairs was cleared and all bodies had descended to the club proper. Thor gave a low whistle and leaned against the now empty bar, watching the roadies pile in with cases of equipment.

     The old club and its peeling gold walls seemed suddenly empty, the din from downstairs taking on an otherworldly quality. Filler music pumped in over the sound system, out of date ska from a series of mix cd’s made five years ago.

     Thor scratched at the stubble on his chin and glanced around the bar. There were familiar faces and some jaded, older figures who were intent on draining their drinks before the show started. The booths were empty but for the two-seater on the far right, pressed into one of the windows. A young man clad in black sat there alone, sprawled sideways in his seat. As Thor watched him, he turned his face toward the bar. Thor felt his mouth fall open.

     He was _beautiful_. His face was something from an art nouveau illustration, royal high cheekbones a shade of ivory seen only in movies. He had black hair, combed back to hang around his chin. There was a sharp, dangerous quality to his wide eyes as they flashed over the bar. They lighted on Thor and his open mouth.

     They stared at each other for a long moment, as if held in place by an invisible wire. Finally, the stranger rolled his eyes and shifted all the way around in his seat, curling up into the booth with his back to the bar to watch the window. Thor’s hand slipped out from under him and he thunked his elbow off the bar, stumbling a little. He looked around in embarrassment, aware that his heart had begun to beat a little faster.

     “You okay?” one of the servers asked as she took a seat at the end of the bar.

     Thor cleared his throat, “Yeah, yes, fine.”

     “Uhuh,” she reached over and helped herself to a can of shitty beer, “go introduce yourself.”

     His head whipped around. She was regarding him with a raised eyebrow and a smug look. His cheeks flushed slightly as a smile broke across his face.

     “Jane, would you watch the bar for a minute?”

     She nodded noncommittally and he ducked under the bar. He kissed her cheek on the way by. The walk to the other end of the room seemed to take forever as he drew closer to the handsome visitor.

     He had barely made it to the table before a clear, cold voice said, “Not interested.”

     Undaunted, Thor sat down across from the stranger, blocking his view of the window and earning an absolutely toxic glare from those bright green eyes.

     “Yes you are,” Thor said confidently, “you were staring.”

     “I was surprised,” he leaned back, shoulders straight, “I’ve never been eye-fucked so hard by a complete stranger.”

     Thor glanced at the younger man’s red lips, “I doubt that.”

     “What do you want?”

     “Your name.”

     The green eyes rolled again, accompanied by a dramatic sigh, “Charlemagne.”

     Thor humored him with a laugh, which seemed to confuse him somewhat, “Nice to meet you, your majesty. I’m Thor.”

     He extended his hand. The dark-haired man looked at the tattoo on Thor’s thumb, a war hammer done in scrollwork. With an exasperated expression, the stranger put his cold fingers against Thor’s palm. Thor noted shiny black fingernails as they shook awkwardly. A little late, Thor regretted the handshake, reflecting that he might have set a less than romantic tone.

     “Loki,” offered the young man, withdrawing his smooth hand.

     “Even your name is beautiful. Loki,” Thor gave him a dazzling smile and leaned in, elbows on the table. Loki seemed unaffected by this display of charm. Thor pressed on, “Are you here for the show?”

     He intended to drop Sif’s name and impress Loki by introducing him to the band. His plan was utterly foiled when Loki shrugged and said, “I don’t really come for the music.”

     Until that moment, Thor had been unaware of any other reason to come to the Asgard. It certainly wasn’t for the food. Or the drinks. Or the atmosphere. Rethinking his approach, he let his eyes rove Loki’s thin chest, dimly registering the beaten black Buzzcocks tour shirt under his tight leather jacket. He was distracted by the delicate curve of Loki’s neck and the slight razor burn just below his jawline.

     “You’re staring again,” Loki stated cooly. Thor noticed for the first time a lilting accent shading his speech.

     “Sorry,” Thor said without meaning it, “you’re easy to stare at. Where are you from?”

     “Out of town.”

     “Far out of town?”

     “Very.”

     Thor gave a lopsided smile, “Are you going to tell me anything about yourself?”

     “Hm,” with a tilt of his head, Loki gave Thor a meaningful look, “Scorpio.”

     Thor made an effort to keep his confusion from surfacing in his eyes. Luckily for him, Loki’s attention was drawn by a loud gaggle of teenagers. The statuesque profile turned toward the sound of laughter.

     “Huh,” Thor tried to sound casual, “listen, my shift ends soon. My friend’s band is playing downstairs tonight. I could get you in, if you’d like to go.”

     “Not particularly.”

     Loki played with one of several rings on his graceful fingers, looking down to avoid Thor’s gaze. Thor was struck by the precision of Loki’s movements. He was meticulous and careful, but all his motions, even the small ticks, had a decisive quality. Thor’s overall impression was of a cornered dog about to bite.

     “I’m sorry,” said Thor, and Loki glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

     “For what?”

     “Whatever happened to make you look so sad.”

     Some combination of chagrin and touched confusion manifested on Loki’s face, “That’s none of your fucking business.”

     A hot rush of panic shot through Thor’s body, “I didn’t mean--”

     But Loki’s expression had become closed and vicious. Thor cringed inwardly.

     “I’ve clearly picked a bad time,” Thor stood up, sidling around the edge of the table, “I’m here most nights if you ever come back.”

     He half expected Loki to stop him, or apologize. Instead, the young man simply sipped at his drink with an air of reserved disdain. Thor gave a mental shrug and made his way back to the bar. His waiting friend gave him a look of shock.

     _“You struck out?”_ she mouthed.

     Thor returned to his place behind the bar and shook his head, “He was severely uninterested.”

     “In _you?”_

     Thor let out a breathy laugh, but couldn’t think of a thing to say in reply. He had never been so roundly rejected in so few words. He gathered up a few empty glasses and brought them dazedly to the sink.

     Jane was suddenly at his back, a sympathetic hand rubbing his shoulder, “He’s probably an asshole anyway.”

     “Probably,” Thor agreed. He began to clean the dirty glasses with slow, zombie movements.

     An almighty crash of a guitar riff sounded from downstairs, followed by a unified shrieking cheer. The drums started in and the music became instantly deafening. All conversation was drowned out. The floor vibrated with the bass. Soon even the stragglers caved, making their way downstairs and presumably grumbling about the cover charge. The bar was totally empty but for the corner booth, where Loki still watched the street outside.

     A half hour later, Thor’s shift ended and his replacement showed up. He said a lazy goodnight to Jane and slipped through the back door into the staff hallway. He jogged down the stairs and emerged behind the club bar, in the middle of the show. The resident bartender greeted him with a nod.

     The lights were roaming in a rainbow seizure, and Sif was singing about destructive ways to sabotage your ex-girlfriend. The crowd was going insane, a healthy pit forming at the front. A sign near the stage reading NO CROWD SURFING had been knocked askew.

     Thor poured himself a beer from the tap and left a few bills beside the fridge. He leaned back to enjoy the show. Four more songs in, the band was on fire and the pit was out of control. The roadies were getting nervous. Everything was blissfully normal.

     He had almost successfully put Loki out of his mind when he glanced around the club and saw a thin, dark figure perched way in the back, leaning against a column.

     Loki was watching the show from a safe distance, drink in hand. His posture suggested he was unimpressed, but his head moved with the beat. Thor watched him. Maybe it was the last beer. Maybe it was the lighting, or the way the band was singing about lost love. All Thor was aware of was a sudden need, sharp and warm, to feel Loki’s cold hands again. To have them pull at his shirt or dig into his sides. To watch them ball up his sheets or get them tangled in his hair. He drew in a shaky breath.

     The song ended and the lighting shifted to reds and greens, and Loki was briefly illuminated by a roving spotlight. Thor set down his drink and vaulted the bar.

     Loki saw him coming this time, and the rolling of his eyes was more of a full body gesture. Thor ignored it and strode purposefully forward. The music took on a fast beat. In the pit, a full bottle flew into the air and sprayed the crowd with beer.

     Thor was surprised when Loki allowed him close enough to shout into his ear, “Thought you didn’t come for the music?”

     “I changed my mind,” Loki’s breath in Thor’s ear smelled of cigarettes, “but not about you.”

     Thor was actually a bit hurt, “Are you always like this?”

     “Are you?” Loki’s eyes were furious. Thor was taken aback by the force of Loki’s anger, wracking his brain to figure out just where he had gone so wrong. Before he could reply, Loki had gripped his arm tightly and was pulling him toward one of the nondescript black bathrooms.

     Loki shoved him through the open door and followed him in, slamming the door shut and rounding on Thor. Inside the tiny closet of a space, the music was muffled by sound proofing. There was only about a foot of space between them, and maybe another foot to the questionable toilet.

     A white hand shot toward his face, and Thor flinched, expecting to be hit. But Loki’s hand splayed against the graffiti-covered wall behind him.

     “I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Loki hissed at him, “but I am not interested in you, or your advances, or your pity.”

     The effect that unbridled anger had on Loki’s face was shocking. The princely lines around his mouth warped into an animalistic snarl. Thor shook his head incredulously.

     “I just wanted to--”

     “To fuck me,” Loki sneered at him, lips peeled back from his teeth, “You want your nightly conquest. Well, I’m not in the mood.”

     “Nightly...?” Thor repeated, eyes wide. The sheer ridiculousness of the statement caused his mouth to twist into a smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

     “What?!” Loki snapped, _“What?!”_

     Thor rubbed his eyes with a hand, “I just wanted to buy you a drink.”

     Loki recoiled a little, the rage fading from his features. His face became an unreadable mask, only his eyes holding any emotion. They searched Thor’s in the flickering yellow light. Under their intense scrutiny, Thor felt his smile fall as a warm feeling bloomed in the pit of his stomach.

     In a swift, single motion, the hand behind Thor’s head grasped him by the hair and pulled. Loki’s other hand darted to his chest and shoved him back. He thudded against the wall, a confused gasp escaping his mouth.

     Then that beautiful head was alongside his, Loki’s cheek pressed to his ear. The shining black hair smelled of flowers. Thor’s eyes closed involuntarily as Loki’s teeth sunk into his earlobe, then dragged down his jawline.

     _“What the hell?”_ Thor murmured into Loki’s soft hair, aroused and vaguely terrified.

     Loki silenced him by pressing his lips to Thor’s. As Thor attempted to reciprocate, Loki gave a sharp tug on his hair, pinning Thor’s head to the wall. Before he could protest, Loki kissed him hard, a brutal, needy kiss that left Thor’s jaw hurting. Thor let out a soft sound of confused pleasure and Loki responded by biting down on his lower lip. A sharp twinge of pain shot across Thor's mouth. When Loki’s tongue scraped over his teeth, Thor tasted his own blood mixed with beer and cigarette smoke. He had never been so turned on in his life.

     Hard and aching, Thor bucked his hips forward and grasped Loki’s waist with one hand. The pull on his hair grew painfully strong and Thor was forced to look up, baring his neck. He had an excellent view of the shuddering lightbulb as Loki’s teeth traveled down his throat to make sharp indents in the skin of his collarbone. A spark of anger flared in Thor’s mind, immediately forgotten as Loki's thin frame pushed into him. Thor flattened his hands against the grimy wall, allowing Loki free reign.

     Within a moment, the pressure on his hips let up and Loki’s warmth grew distant. The hand in his hair released its grasp. Thor looked blankly down. Loki took a step back, a disappointed expression on his face. He gave a snort of laughter and licked Thor’s blood from his lips.

     “It figures,” he sighed, and threw the door open. The music flooded in. Loki exited the bathroom without even looking Thor in the eye. The door swung back and closed with a click, re-enveloping the bathroom in relative quiet.

     Thor stood in place, utterly shocked and irreversibly horny. His erection pushed hard against his jeans zipper. He released a long breath as the band outside broke into a Dead Kennedys cover. He muttered quietly to the closed door.

     “What just happened?”


	2. 20 ways to start a fight

     After the show, Thor helped the roadies clean up. The auxiliary lights whined to life, causing drunken patrons to cover their eyes. The crowd filtered out, a few of them allowed to hang out with the band before the bouncers escorted them back through the bar. It was around one in the morning. Thor was angrily coiling an extension cord when someone nearby called his name.

     “Thor, hey,” Sif was jogging over to the stage, voice cracking and tired, “you okay?”

     He wasn’t. After a search of the club had yielded no results, Thor had returned to the show with a cloud of rage over his head. He was not often angry. Tonight he was livid.

     “I’m fine,” he lied. Sif took a moment to unbuckle a heavy leather belt from around her waist. She hit him with it.

     “Come on,” she folded tattooed arms, “you’re mad. Is this about the guy from earlier?”

     Thor gave her a sideways look.

     “Don’t do the face,” she cracked her neck, sending her dark ponytail swaying, “Jane told me you were hitting on somebody at the bar. The whole merch table saw you two go off into the bath--”

     “Could we not talk about this?”

     “Who is he?” Sif asked with a defensive air.

     Thor groaned, “No one. Just some lunatic who I will be actively avoiding in the future.”

     Her eyes narrowed, ringed in kohl liner and glitter. She watched him for a few seconds, then rubbed her neck with one hand, pulling at her shoulder, “Want me to kick the shit out of him?”

     “No, thank you,” he gave a sighing laugh, “I’ll do that myself, if I get the chance.”

     “You coming with us to the after-party?”

     He wrapped the last of the cord and added it to a pile, “I’m going home. But thanks for the invitation.”

     She gave a flat kind of smile, eyes sympathetic, “Text me if you need anything, okay?”

     “I don’t need to be babied, thank you,” he said without any real barb, “I’ll be over it by morning. If you’re still in town we’ll grab a cup of coffee.”

     “It’s a date,” she gave him a loving punch in the arm and turned away, bouncing over toward the rest of the band. Thor watched her go before making his way to the back hallway behind the bar. He retrieved his jacket and keys from his locker. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it absentmindedly. There was a message from Sif.

_ps staying with jane tonight.. wish me luck!!_

     His fingers punched out the word _luck_ , but he was not above being slightly bitter. The last few hours seemed like an unreal scene from a bad movie. He shrugged into his jacket and tried to look forward to a hot shower and his soft bed. His soft, empty bed.

     He trudged out through the back door into the quiet one-way street, brisk fall air chilling his face. He thought he could still smell Loki’s hair, all flowery shampoo and tobacco. His feet moved grudgingly and he began the walk home, mind wandering.

     The city was still awake, just beginning to lapse into sleep. The seedier populace had taken to the streets, hanging around corners and sitting outside closed shops. Thor, tall and built like a warrior, had never had any problems of his own in the late night shadows. He had solved a few, though.

     He made it about halfway to his bus stop, wondering all the way what he had done wrong. What had made Loki look at him as though he were a piece of trash? Why the disappointment? Why the dismissal? Thor couldn’t remember a time when he’d been turned down so abruptly, except when he and Sif had broken up, and that he had deserved.

     As he walked by the open mouth of an alleyway, a hollow crashing sound echoed out to the street. He thought distantly that someone must have knocked over a recycling bin. Then his mind registered scuffling noises and the sound of a fist connecting with a face. A low, animal whine resonated down the brick alley walls.

     Thor stopped mid-stride and hung back beside the corner of a building, listening. Hushed voices reached him in rhythmic waves.

_“Oh, got some fight in you.”_

_“Look at this pretty motherfucker.”_

     There was a distinct crunching sound, followed by a wheeze. A weak laugh echoed, followed by a shaky voice saying, _“Are you done yet?”_

     A shock ran through Thor, from the ground to his eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, frozen in place, listening as one more blow hit home. Then he pulled himself up, chin up and jaw set, and strode confidently into the alley.

     Six faces turned toward him, one of them covered in blood.

     “Oh good,” Loki grinned weakly, exposing bloody teeth. He was slumped halfway to the ground, held in place by two men who watched Thor with murderous expressions.

     A well-built figure stood over, glaring toward the road. He gestured with a hefty set of brass knuckles, glistening with Loki’s blood.

     “Walk the fuck away.”

     Thor let out a sigh through his nose. This just wasn’t his night.

     Loki’s attackers were all tall and heavily inked, none of them young. Thor thought he recognized a few gang tattoos. Nothing high class, but nothing to be fucked with, either. One of the smaller ones took a meaningful step in Thor’s direction.

     “Let him go,” Thor tried his luck.

     Now two of the thugs were moving toward him.

     Planting his heel, Thor gave up his last thought of a peaceful night. He anticipated the motion just before it came, ducking around an errant fist to bring his elbow up into the other man’s ribs. He heard a dull crack and felt something give as his assailant fell to one side, gasping.

     There was a still moment in which the other men seemed to be sizing him up. Brass Knuckles licked his lips and gave a quick glance around. The man at Thor’s feet was taking rapid, shallow breaths and trying to sit up. Thor stole a glance at Loki and was slightly terrified to see a smile winding its way into his eyes.

     In a sudden burst of strength, Loki propelled his legs into the air, heavy boot connecting with Brass Knuckles’ sternum. The man let out a hissing sound and stumbled over.

     Thor gave a loud groan of frustration as he found himself under attack once more. Luckily, this kid was inexperienced, swinging his fists in clumsy arcs. It was simple enough to predict his motions. Right hook, dodge. Body shot, block. A spectacularly slow punch aimed at Thor’s nose gave him the opportunity to catch the other man by the wrist. A single wrenching motion was enough to give him control, and a sharp twist separated the shoulder. Thor stepped back as the young man fell to his knees, screaming obscenities.

     Across the alley, Loki had one of his captors downed and clutching an arm. He was ducking and dodging around Brass Knuckles, who grew more infuriated with each swing. Loki was too fast for him, dark hair whipping along as he darted from side to side. A crazed grin had spread across his bloodied face, and he laughed at Brass Knuckles in a short, mangled bark.

     Thor was totally distracted as a fist slammed into his jaw.

     He rolled with it and ended up on his knees, one hand bracing the ground. A giant of a man rushed at him and swept his foot up into Thor’s stomach with a grace that would’ve made a football coach weep. Thor felt a horrific clenching of his inner organs as he flopped uselessly to the side.

     Out of thin air, a wiry figure tackled the giant to the ground. Thor, still panting for air, heard a scuffling nearby followed by a chilling, wet sound. He forced himself to roll over, ignoring the cramping in his stomach, planted his hands and drew himself up on his knees. He was about to stand when something very, very solid drove into the base of his skull.

     There was a missing, dark moment, then Thor came to with his face against the cold asphalt. He was flat on his stomach, damp pavement soaking through his jacket. His hair had fallen free and plastered itself to his face and neck. A short distance away, Loki was on the ground cradling his left shoulder, frame hunched in pain. Brass Knuckles was nowhere to be seen.

     “That’s right, bitch,” hissed a voice in Thor’s ear, at once too close and miles away, “fucked up your little girlfriend.”

     A hand closed around the back of his neck and Thor became suddenly aware of the taste of blood in his mouth. He hoped desperately for a split lip.

     “You fucking fags should know better by now,” something wet hit Thor’s face, “you don’t come here. You don’t show your face here.”

     His brain was screaming _move, get up, fight,_ but his limbs might as well have been made of lead. He felt glued to the ground. He watched helplessly as Loki struggled into a half-raised position. Their eyes met.

     Loki’s face showed no trace of fear, though his eyes were wide. He was motionless, hand pressed to his shoulder. Shadows made sharp angles around his nose and mouth.

     “I’m gonna teach you a little something, huh?” rasped Brass Knuckles, breath unwelcome and hot against Thor’s ear “Maybe I teach your fairy fucking princess how to take it.”

     A visceral, twisting feeling wrung itself through Thor’s muscles. His face flushed hot. He balled his fists, knuckles scraping against the pavement.

     “Maybe I make you watch.”

     With a roar, Thor threw his arm back and was rewarded by a loud crack as his elbow collided with the hard bridge of a nose. There was a thud from behind him. Thor shoved himself up, vision spinning. Pain tore down his arm, spiraling like fire from his probably-broken elbow to his fingertips.

     Brass Knuckles was being helped up by the giant, his nose positively gushing blood. Thor braced himself as best he could, forming his left hand into a fist.

     An ear-shattering wail ripped through the air, and Thor’s heart soared as the street filled with flashing blue light. The siren grew louder. With a chorus of _“fuck,”_ the walking wounded scrambled to their feet and cleared the alley. Brass Knuckles gave Thor one last warning look, cupping his shattered nose. He disappeared into the shadows, vaulting a chain-link fence with an echoing rattle.

     The siren drowned out all other sound as three police cruisers went flying past the mouth of the alleyway. The lights, momentarily blinding, vanished quickly, and the noise faded into quiet. For a long moment, it seemed impossible that they were actually alone. Reassured by the sound of his own breathing in the now silent alley, Thor turned to Loki.

     “Hey,” he croaked, falling more than kneeling in front of the younger man.

     Only one of Thor’s eyes had returned to normal, but that was enough to see Loki was in need of a hospital. The royal lines of his face were rudely interrupted by a deep gouge on one cheek and a growing bruise around one eye. Loki’s upper lip was coated in blood from his nose, which looked broken. His green eyes searched Thor’s face.

     “What were you thinking?” Loki asked him, voice like scraping glass.

     “Wh...” Thor blinked, trying to clear the smoky haze over his right eye, “wh... are you _angry_ with me?”

     “Yes!” Loki snapped as though it should have been obvious, “You could’ve died!”

     “I...” Thor’s lips were working, but no words came to him. He shook his head, then regretted it immediately. A wave of nausea washed over him, accompanied by the feeling of a railroad spike being driven through his brain. He teetered slightly and Loki’s hand shot out to steady him,  grasping his side just above the hip. Thor leaned into the helping hand, too exhausted to protest.

     “You’re a mess,” Loki told him.

     Thor gave a wheezing laugh, “Have you seen yourself?”

     As he said it, the haze began to clear from his eyes. Loki came into focus, lopsided smile tinged with pain. Thor heard himself shout wordlessly in shock.

     Loki’s shoulder was bleeding through his jacket, a tear in the leather the size of a walnut allowing blood to drip down his sleeve to the ground.

     “Hey,” Thor reached out a useless hand, and Loki pulled back, “Loki, that looks bad.”

     “It probably is.”

     “Which one of them--”

     “It doesn’t matter,” Loki’s voice was low, “let’s just... let’s go?”

     It was part plea, part command, but he looked at Thor with such a dark expression that Thor instinctively moved closer. Wobbling a little as he went, he closed the space between them and strung his good arm under Loki’s. The younger man gave a slight sigh and responded in kind, his  useable hand running up Thor’s back to support the underside of his arm.

     “On three?” Thor asked.

     Loki gave a vague nod.

     Thor counted them in and they pushed off, one working pair of arms between them. With some struggle, they stumbled into a standing position. Thor caught Loki as he nearly tipped over again. They stayed, balanced against each other for a moment. Thor closed his eyes and rested a bruised cheek in Loki’s wet hair. He received no complaint.

     “This isn’t how I meant to spend the night,” Thor gave a slight breath of laughter.

     Loki pulled back slightly and they moved in unison, taking a few hobbling steps toward the road. Thor processed Loki’s silence as they shuffled past a dumpster. With some effort, Loki worked something out of his pocket and tossed it into the open bin. Thor was about to ask when Loki looked at him, those full eyes catching the street light.

     “And how did you want to spend the night?” Loki asked.

     “Well,” Thor was disturbed to find his arm was going numb, “my plan was more romantic. We had wine and moonlight.”

     They made it to the sidewalk.

     “So you did want to fuck me,” Loki gave a humorless chuckle, “I knew it.”

     “Shut up. Try to enjoy not being dead.”


	3. trading paper cuts for splinters

     The hospital was in the opposite direction from Thor’s apartment. There were no cabs. They staggered into the ER at two thirty and were told to wait. Half an hour of pastel chairs and muzak later, they were led into separate stations. Thor was relieved to hear that his elbow was not shattered. They put his arm in a sling anyway and wrapped an ice pack around his swollen knuckles. He was told about ten times how lucky he was to have only a minor concussion.

     They let him go with some painkillers and ice, and an appointment to have his arm examined more thoroughly. He sat in the waiting room hall, pinching himself to keep awake. A clock on the wall ticked steadily away, and as he watched the hands made slow progress to four in the morning.

     Finally, Loki rounded the corner, arm strapped across his chest in a padded sling. He was half-dead in the florescent lights. The bruise around his eye was swelling a deep red.

     Beside him, a doctor was telling him when he could pick up prescriptions. Loki looked as though he was sleepwalking, clearly not understanding a word the woman said.

     “Hey,” he croaked at Thor, interrupting the doctor mid-sentence, “you’re still here.”

     “Yeah.”

     “Why?”

     Thor looked from Loki’s expressionless face to the put-upon doctor. She regarded him with suspicion. He gave up on tact.

     “I’m taking you home,” he told Loki bluntly, “you’re not going alone.”

     He expected some kind of sharp comeback, but Loki gave a sigh of relief and nodded. Thor stood, still a bit unsteady on his feet, and made his way over. The doctor, apparently assuming he was responsible for her patient, addressed him.

     “Make sure he keeps it immobilized,” she gave a practiced gesture to Loki’s shoulder, speaking slowly as if to a child, “you don’t want him pulling the stitches.”

     “Right,” Thor caught himself just before nodding in response.

     “Normally we’d admit him for something like this,” she shot Loki a look, “but it’s his decision.”

     “I’m not staying,” Loki mumbled at her.

     She awarded them both an expression of total exasperation, then vanished into the chaos of the ER. Loki watched Thor’s face for a moment.

     “My place is close,” he stated. Thor decided to take it as an offer.

     “Good,” Thor held his free arm behind Loki’s back in a protective arch, “we’ll call a cab.”

     “I lost my phone.”

     “I’ve got mine.”

     They made their way out into the dark morning, standing in the halo of light outside the hospital entrance. Thor’s phone was cracked but working. The third taxi service picked up after two rings and promised to be there.

     The cab ride was spent in shared silence, the two of them watching out opposite windows while the driver listened to reggae. They rolled to a stop outside a grey, blockish building with a faded blue door. They were in a student neighborhood. Thor tossed a few bills at the driver’s seat and followed Loki to the front steps.

     Thor found himself losing certain moments, like opening the door and traveling up the stairs. He had a vague notion of walking down a hallway. He was suddenly outside a plain white door, number 307, where Loki was swearing profusely.

     “Are you fucking kidding me,” seethed Loki quietly.

     It took Thor a second to realize that the door was already open, slightly ajar. He tensed and moved ahead, edging in front of Loki and kicking the door. It swung open to reveal a kitchen and living room, both of which were mostly empty. The sofa was overturned. Several lamps laid crooked across the floor.

     Thor took a hesitant step into the apartment, steadying himself against the wall.

     “They’re long gone,” Loki snapped, voice cracking, and swept past Thor into the kitchen, “move.”

     Thor stepped dutifully aside as Loki kicked the door closed and snapped on the kitchen light.

     With a grunt of pain, Loki knelt and opened a low cabinet, rooting around until he found an old cereal box. He opened it and glanced inside before giving a low sigh and closing his eyes. Replacing the box, he stood gingerly and surveyed the damage.

     “I’m so sorry,” Thor said, for lack of anything more comforting to say.

     Loki turned to him and met his gaze, eyebrows lifted in a sort of amused disbelief. A smile darted across his lips and he grinned humorlessly, looking to the floor.

     “Is there...” Thor rubbed the back of his head, trying to pacify a building headache, “Can I do anything to help?”

     “... Help?” Loki repeated weakly, smile disappearing. He looked vacantly up at Thor.

     “I’m not leaving,” Thor said clumsily, then rephrased when Loki’s eyes narrowed, “I mean, I can’t get home like this. So you’re stuck with me.”

     He sincerely hoped Loki wouldn’t read too far into it, though if he was honest with himself, at least some of his motivation in staying was selfish. He didn’t trust himself not to nod off, and he was sure Loki was in more pain than he was letting on.

     Besides, Thor was in no mood to be alone this morning.

     Loki was evidently absorbing this information, glancing sleepily over the living room.

     “Yes,” he said finally, voice turning soft, “you can help me flip the couch.”

     Thor moved toward the manhandled furniture, but Loki’s hand caught his arm. He turned his head to find Loki was very close.

     “No rush,” Loki’s hand slid down to Thor’s wrist, gripping lightly before letting go, “sit down.”

     Thor allowed himself to be guided to a kitchen chair, wedged in a corner of the small space. He sat down with a sigh of pain, back and neck stiffening.

     Loki was opening and closing cabinet doors, “There’s food missing. They took my food. Who _does_ that?”

     Thor planted his free elbow on the kitchen table, resting his chin in his hand, “Must’ve been desperate.”

     Loki sighed in response, “I wish they’d been desperate somewhere else.”

     The comment struck Thor as sort of cold-hearted, but then again Loki had had an exceptionally terrible night. His faith in humanity was probably running low. Thor watched him move gingerly around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess, and was mystified by how regal he was. Despite the numerous bruises, the broken nose and the hole in his shoulder, Loki was still standing tall and straight, steps still deliberate and the motion of his useable hand a fluttering dance. Thor was reminded of a bird in flight.

     He imagined Loki turning to him, eyes bright as wet stone, and throwing open his arms to reveal a cascade of feathers. The thin muscles of his shoulders disappearing into a burst of black down, his hair parting like the crest of a jay... Those beautiful wings hitting the kitchen cabinets, trapped. Thor wanted to tear the walls down to free him.

     “Thor. _Thor!”_

     He blinked, eyes opening to see Loki’s panicked face looking up at him. He had fallen asleep at the table. Loki was crouched in front of him, holding Thor’s face in his cold hand.

     “Are you alright?” Loki’s words mixed together, and Thor blinked harder to correct his vision as Loki’s black eye seemed to travel a bit.

     “Mm,” Thor’s brain had to work hard for the answer, “Yes. I’m fine.”

     “You fell asleep,” Loki’s face was paper white, “Aren’t you not supposed to sleep?”

     Thor was keenly aware of the cool sensation of Loki’s fingers against his temple. His jaw relaxed under their gentle pressure.

     “It’s probably not that bad,” Thor tried to sound reassuring, but the flash of fear across Loki’s face suggested he had slurred the words. Thor was more concerned to see Loki’s eye had swollen almost completely shut. He wanted to reach for it, but he feared the movement would disturb the comforting hand on his cheek.

     “Not that bad? You took a rabbit punch to the skull.”

     “Mm fine,” Thor smiled, which only inspired Loki to frown harder.

     “What’s your name?” Loki asked in a tone of voice reserved for teachers and overbearing nurses. He leaned closer to Thor, evidently watching the movement of his eyes.

     “Thor Odinson.”

     “What year is it?”

     “2013.”

     “What day?”

     Thor had to think about this for a moment, “It’s... Friday? Saturday.”

     “Where are you?”

     “I’m with you.”

     Loki paused, “And what’s my name?”

     “Beautiful.”

     Thor felt his cheeks flush. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. After a beat, Loki’s hand pulled away from Thor’s face. He stood up with a huff of pain, rubbing his neck.

     “Well, you’re definitely concussed...” he looked away, “They took everything but the coffee maker. And I have some cereal, I think.”

     The thought of food made Thor’s stomach turn, “Coffee. Please.”

     Loki nodded and opened a cabinet, pulling out an absolutely antique Mr. Coffee. He set it on the counter with some trouble and reached up for a huge tin. As he pried the lid, the kitchen filled with the smell of coffee and Thor felt instantly a little brighter.

     Minutes later, the Mr. Coffee was chugging away, hot coffee dripping little by little into a well-scratched pot.

     Thor pulled himself to his feet, using the table as a guide, “I’ll go turn the sofa.”

     Loki followed him. Thor thought about protesting, but exhaustion won over pride. They positioned themselves at either end and gripped the plush back, lifting as one. Thor was relieved to find it wasn’t as heavy as it looked. After a bit of effort, it tipped into an upright position with a muffled _thoomp._

     Thor sat down heavily on the green velour, sighing in relief, as Loki busied himself with the coffee maker. He glided into the room with two mugs held firmly in his hand. Thor reached belatedly for the upside down coffee table and flipped it in a single motion.

     Ordinarily Thor would’ve asked for cream and sugar, but he was too tired to care and Loki had already sunk into the other end of the sofa. He watched Loki kick his boots off and put his feet up on the table.

     They sipped their black coffee in silence, staring at the holes in the opposite wall where Loki’s TV had been.

     Enough wordless time passed for Thor’s mug to cool to room temperature. The caffeine made his hand jitter as it lifted the cup, emblazoned with plaid scotty dogs, to his lips. There was a shifting of fabric from the other end of the sofa and Loki finally said, “Why did you do it?”

     “Huh?” Thor paused mid-sip. He didn’t look, but he could feel Loki watching him with those falcon’s eyes of his.

     “Why’d you get involved?” Loki’s voice rose slightly at the end of the question, tone turning critical, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

     Thor blinked at his coffee for a moment before dramatically setting his mug on the table and awarding Loki a flat glare of disapproval.

     “What did you expect me to do? Keep walking?”

     “Maybe you should have.”

     _“Why?”_

     Loki raised his unbruised eyebrow in the most judgmental way and Thor felt his lips contorting into a bitter frown. He refocused his attention to the blank wall, not wanting to start an argument. But his curiosity was piqued and he was near positive his day couldn’t get much worse.

     “What were you doing over there, anyway?” Thor tried to keep his voice neutral.

     “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

     “It’s not,” Thor gave a half shrug, then winced as his arm and head both began aching all over again, “But it isn’t a great part of town. You might want to avoid it in the fut--”

     “I will do what I damn well please in the future,” Loki hissed at him, “just because you threw yourself into the middle of a fight that didn’t concern you doesn’t mean I have to take your advice.”

     “Of course,” Thor’s face grew warm with anger, and he shifted around to look Loki in the eye, “I only saved your ass.”

     The expression of insulted pride creeping across Loki’s features was distinctly unflattering. Paired with his bruises and scrapes it was almost monstrous. Thor had a fleeting instinct to punch him.

     “Whatever you think happened,” Loki spat, pressing himself back into the corner of the couch, “I had it under control.”

     Thor could think of absolutely nothing in response except to laugh. It started as an incredulous bark and turned into a genuine smile, then a fit of real laughter. His arm began to hurt, jostling against his chest. He could sense Loki growing more and more furious but Thor was giggling now and had to press his knuckles against his lip to stop himself. His teeth caught the scab where Loki had bitten him.

     “I’m sorry,” Thor wiped at his eyes, “we must have different definitions of control.”

     When he glanced at Loki he received a glare, but the corner of Loki’s mouth twisted up into a wry smile, the harsh shadows around his healthy eye relaxing into laugh lines.

     “Besides,” Thor continued offhand, “I’d hate for that face of yours to be ruined.”

     He’d meant it as a compliment, but he seemed to have captured Loki’s attention in the wrong way. The laugh lines smoothed back into a blank look of scrutiny.

     “We just got back from the _hospital_ ,” Loki said slowly, “and you’re still trying to score?”

     Thor stiffened a bit, though his back complained for it, “That’s not...”

     “Are you seriously still thinking you’ll get laid?” now Loki was sitting up perfectly straight, royal and intimidating once more, “Because I have news for you, Thor, that wasn’t about to happen.”

     “Loki--”

     “I’m not in the mood for your hero complex,” his free hand was clenching into a fist against his leg, “I have had enough of great knights in shining fucking armor who can do no wrong. I don’t need saving, you absolute caveman.”

     He thrust himself from the sofa in fury, catching his balance and angrily swiping his coffee mug from the table. Thor watched his back as he stalked into the kitchen and set the mug down in the sink. He punched the knob on the faucet and water spewed from the tap.

     Thor considered the young man and his bloody tee-shirt, wondering what he’d done in a past life to deserve him. But there was a warm, protective desire underneath the irritation. Pushing off from the arm of the sofa, Thor stood with some effort and trudged unevenly around the low wall into the tiny kitchen, moving in close to stand behind Loki. He watched the graceful shoulders give a single shake, then freeze in pain.

     As if the sound of running water could’ve disguised the quiet panic Loki so desperately wanted to hide.

     “They could’ve killed you,” Thor said softly.

     Loki sniffed in disdain, “They could’ve tried.”

     Thor was sure he was taking his life in his hands, but he raised his hand and placed it gently in the center of Loki’s back, fingers tracing the straps of his sling. Inching nearer, Thor allowed his hand to travel down until it rested in the curve just before Loki’s hips. The thin shoulders relaxed, and Loki turned slowly around until his face was only inches away, and Thor’s hand, hovering in place, lay extended with fingertips placed just about the waist of his jeans.

     Loki was watching Thor’s chest as if trying to make a difficult decision. Thor took the opportunity to close all distance, pressing his hand flat against Loki’s abs and sliding it to his hip, gripping tentatively. Finally, a pull at the hem of Thor’s shirt signaled Loki’s opposite hand wrapping itself in the fabric, dragging Thor in until their faces were touching. Thor’s nose brushed Loki’s broken one and Loki flinched. Thor kissed the undamaged skin of his cheek.

     “Why would you risk it?” he breathed into Loki’s forehead, “was anything worth dying for tonight?”

     “Is this your thing?” Loki’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, “you just go around playing Prince Charmi--”

     Thor didn’t let him finish, pressing his lips ever so gently into Loki’s, head tilted to avoid hurting him again. For a split second, Loki froze, and Thor was terrified he’d made a mistake. But the chapped lips beneath his responded in kind, more forcefully.  The fist balling his shirt grew tighter as Loki leaned forward, broken nose and all, lips parting and tongue running searchingly over Thor’s lower lip. A shock of warmth ran up Thor’s body. Loki tasted like coffee and ash and _new,_ sweet taste of his skinned lips now interrupted by copper once more as Thor’s bite mark began to bleed.

     “Oh,” Loki pulled away just a fraction of an inch, “I forgot I’d done that.”

     Thor was acutely aware of his heart thudding like a night train and had a distant thought that he was about to be in way over his head. He lifted his hand to that iron-black hair, tangled after the fight, and dared to trace the line of Loki’s neck and twine his fingers through the soft strands at the base of his skull.

     “We can’t--” Loki gave a sighing breath, “I won’t--”

     “I know,” Thor reassured him with a kiss laid gingerly over his good eye, “I don’t want to. Not like this.”

     There was a huff of laughter in reply and Loki pushed gently on Thor’s chest, causing him to take a step back. Thor was concerned until the hand on his chest slid down to take him by the wrist. Loki lead him through the living room to a closed door, which he bumped open to reveal an inviting bed done in all white.

     “We’ll ruin your sheets,” Thor noted, too exhausted to censor himself, “and not the way I want to. I’m covered in dirt.”

     Loki sat decisively on the edge of the bed, filthy clothes untouched, suddenly blinking hard to stay awake. Releasing Thor’s wrist, he leaned back with a wheeze of pain and eased himself onto his back. His free hand hovered around his shoulder as if he could will it to stop hurting. The extra concern was too much for Thor, and he slid onto the soft bed as carefully as possible, shuffling around Loki to lie beside him. Their injured arms were side by side.

     “We must look magnificent,” Thor breathed, and Loki laughed weakly.

     “You look pathetic,” he announced, voice finally giving out with a sandpapery growl.

     “Thank you.”

     They fell silent as the sun began to shimmer in through the bedroom window, and Thor was just drifting off into sleep when he heard Loki whisper, apropos of nothing:

     “You tell me.”

     “Mmph?” Thor turned his head toward the sound and his vision swam. Loki was staring at him as though they’d only just met a second ago, eye wide open.

     “You tell me,” he repeated, “was there anything worth dying for last night?”

     Unsure what Loki was trying to ask, Thor closed his eyes. The question multiplied in his head, as though a hundred Lokis had asked him at once.

     “Go to sleep,” he mumbled, “we’ll talk in the morning.”

     “It is morning.”

     “Shh.”


	4. wasted

     They shuffled through the next day like zombies. Loki’s throat had swollen and he could barely talk. Thor’s arm had given up throbbing in favor of a stabbing pain every few seconds. They mostly sat on the bed and brushed against each other when they could. They ate a little cereal while Thor listed bands who had played the Asgard, and Loki nodded yes or shook his head no to indicate his preference. Around nightfall, Thor dictated his phone number and Loki scrawled it down on a piece of cardboard. They promised to meet again soon, after they’d had a few days or weeks to recover. Thor took a cab home, stood in the shower for a minute, then collapsed into bed.

     He didn’t hear from Loki for the rest of the week. At the end of two weeks he began to lose hope. Toward the end of the month, Jane showed up at his apartment with ice cream and fancy beer. They watched Ghostbusters and Thor made an honest effort not to be sullen.

     His bruised arm healed fairly quickly, although his hand took a while to stop shaking. His vision went back to normal, and soon he returned to his usual routine. Occasionally someone would ask what the hell had happened. Thor would smile and make up a different story every time. Once he had fought a dragon, another time it had been a werewolf. Sometimes he had fallen drunkenly from his own fire escape. Eventually the questions stopped.

     Three months after the fight, at two o’clock on a Wednesday, Loki walked into the Asgard and sat down at the bar.

     Thor turned around from the sink to see him sitting there, shoulders at a suggestive angle, with a gentle smirk turning the corners of his mouth. Thor nearly dropped the brandy glass he was cleaning.

     The afternoon quiet had settled around the bar, brunch patrons long gone and the casual drinkers not yet settled in. The bright midday sun pierced the windows in solid shafts, glittering blindingly off the varnished table tops. A few scattered souls were hunched against the far wall, ensconced in the shadows out of the warm light. The whole bar was slightly aglow, yellow tones diffusing across the lines of Loki’s face like the  gleam of a halo.

     “Hi,” Thor managed bluntly.

     Loki leaned on his elbows, expression contemplative, “Hello.”

     After a pause, he added, “You look much healthier.”

     So did Loki. He was wrapped in a cozy black sweater with a high collar, standing out in contrast to his distractingly white skin. His face had healed but for a pinkish scar, visible across the bridge of his nose. He had once again slicked back his hair, and was smoothing it with one ring-covered hand as he glanced down the bar. There was an uncertainty there, a fear buried just beneath the color in his eyes. Thor’s resolve melted immediately.

    “You too,” Thor set down the brandy glass and pulled the towel from his shoulder, “you look good.”

     Loki accepted the compliment with a brief smile, “I meant to call.”

     Watching his sometime friend as though he would run away, Thor stepped up to the bar. He felt suddenly self-conscious about his beer-stained work shirt and messy bun.

     “Are you...” he searched for words, eyes scanning the room. None of the patrons seemed to be paying attention. Jane was on her break, sitting in the corner booth where Thor and Loki had first met. She was absorbed in a book.

     “Why are you here?” Thor asked, maybe a little too harshly. Loki’s mouth twitched.

     “I thought... we could-- could we start over?”

     A bitter protest rose in Thor’s mind, but Loki was chewing on his lip in the most vulnerable way and his sweater was gapping open at his collarbone. Thor felt a sudden wave of vertigo. His feet made an involuntary shuffle forward, and his hand reached out to grip the edge of the bar. Loki noticed but sat still, although he drew a nervous breath. Thor was struck by a desire to kiss him hard until all the worry vanished from his eyes.

     A little too eagerly, Thor reached out and took one of Loki’s hands in his. For a second, the cold fingers and cold rings did not react. Then, with a subtle smile, Loki ran his thumb gently along Thor’s knuckles.

     And that was it.

     One night of arguing and three months of silence, and Thor was hopelessly entangled. He watched the travel of Loki’s thumb, back and forth, cool white skin growing warmer with the action. Thoroughly under the spell of the moment, Thor allowed himself to smile.

     “What happened?” he asked, and Loki laughed quietly.

     “I had some things to take care of,” his thumb paused, pressed into the skin between Thor’s fingers, “like not getting killed.”

     “Did they come after you?!” Thor’s voice was a little too loud, and Loki pressed a thin finger to his lips.

     “ _No_ , no, but I had to disappear for a while,” he shrugged, but his brows furrowed, “I was a little worse off than I let you see.”

     “Why didn’t you stay at the hospital?”

     Loki awarded him a condescending face, but there was no malice in it, “Right, because having my place trashed once wasn’t enough. How’s your arm, by the way?”

     “Fine,” Thor flexed the joint in question, “how’s yours?”

     “Shoulder’s still stiff.”

     A moment of quiet passed between them, underscored surreally by the smooth jazz playing over the sound system. Thor glanced at the ugly metal clock on the opposite wall.

     “Listen, my shift ends in an hour,” the words came out in a rush, “or we could meet for drinks later, maybe--”

     “Drinks,” Loki said decisively, flashing an arresting grin, “Seven o’clock, at Hall’s.”

     Thor flushed pink and gave a nervous smile in reply, “Good.”

     Loki stood to leave, and some wild urge running free in Thor’s mind caused him to pull Loki’s hand to his lips and press a soft kiss to his knuckles.

     Eyebrow arched, Loki looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes, but a deep blush was crawling under his eyes. Thor released his hand with a charming laugh and Loki lingered only a moment more before making a graceful exit, boots clicking. He looked back as he reached the door, giving Thor a small wave. Thor replied in kind, watching the retreating figure until he vanished around the corner of the building.

     “Wow,” said a voice to Thor’s left, and he jumped.

     Jane had materialised out of nowhere, arms crossed and one hip jutted out. Her lips curved in a way that suggested she was both amused and disappointed.

     “Didn’t see you there,” Thor said a little defensively.

     “Uhuh,” she cocked her head, brown pixie cut shining gold in the light, “tell me I didn’t witness what I think I just witnessed.”

     Thor frowned at her, “Why?”

     “Seriously?” she gave him an exasperated look, “He doesn’t talk to you for three months and then you’re magically cool with each other?”

     Thor wracked his brain for a smart answer but could only come up with, “Yes.”

     Her eyebrows shot up, “Thor, you literally just got over this guy, and the one time you went out you got the shit kicked out of you. He’s bad news.”

     “It’s just one date,” Thor grumbled.

     “Yeah, no, you just went full Disney. Hand kisses, really?”

     “Jane,” Thor sighed, “it’s fine.”

     “Uh huh. Just spill your drink on him tonight and run like hell.”

     “No.”

     “Why are you even interested?”

     “I... I like him. Alright?”

     He tried to sound casual about it, but his tone was a little rough. As usual, Jane saw through him. The frustration went out of her glare and was replaced by a sort of tired sympathy.

     “Oh, no. You’re fucked, huh?”

     He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Absolutely.”

     She was silent for a long time, eventually leaning back against the sink to appraise her friend. Thor watched her watching him and wished she wouldn’t worry about him so much. He’d put her through enough when he and Sif had broken up, leaning on Jane without realizing her feelings for Sif. He wasn’t about to let her look after him again.

     “Excuse me?” came an unfamiliar voice, and they both started.

     A disheveled student was leaning hesitantly on the bar, “Can... can I get a coffee?”

     “Uh, yeah,” Jane snapped into action after a confused beat, “sorry.”  


* * *

  
      A few hours later, Thor hovered uneasily on the sidewalk. Fashionable crowds flowed around him. He inhaled someone else’s cigarette smoke and held in a cough. He looked down over himself, wondering if he wasn’t under-dressed. He’d put on his lone pair of black dress pants and a dark blue shirt. He wasn’t sure if the colors constituted a faux pas. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous before a date.

     The old brick building behind him was fondly referred to as Hall’s by locals. Once Hall’s Museum of Curiosities, it had been abandoned for years, then reborn as plush lofts and a ground floor restaurant and bar. Different names had come and gone, and at the moment the bar was an obscenely upscale place called Vanaheim. Everyone still called it Hall’s, despite the best efforts of the owners.

     Thor watched people filter in and out the ornate doorway. He had a sinking feeling he would be buying tonight. Judging by his apartment, Loki couldn’t actually afford this place. Thor ran a hand over his hair, remembering just in time not to ruin the plait Jane had helped him with. After her initial frustration, she had insisted on doing something about his hair, and he’d sat still as she combed and twined. He wondered if Sif had to put up with the same routine.

     He checked his watch. He was ten minutes early. He glanced across the street and saw a trio of young women in short dresses staring openly at him. Sighing through his nose, he looked instead along the cobbled sidewalk, avoiding the eyes of strangers. Dressing up always made him feel ridiculous.

     He was watching the snakelike motion of the crowd when a familiar face made him do a double take worthy of an Oscar. Moving up the sidewalk, eyes downcast as he lit a cigarette, Loki appeared in the ambient street light like some ancient vision of beauty. He was dressed in all dark colors, an immaculately tailored black suit under a long coat with the collar upturned. As his cigarette glowed and he pocketed his lighter, Loki glanced up and met Thor’s shocked gaze. His pace quickened a bit and they were soon facing each other, Thor vaguely aware that his bewitched face must have been utterly hilarious.

     Loki, for his part, only smiled, “Been waiting long?”

     Thor struggled for words, “No, not long.”

     There was a dead beat as Loki waited expectantly for Thor to elaborate. When he failed to say anything, Loki laughed at him and took a drag from his cigarette. Thor was staring like a fool at the creases of Loki’s eyes, where something gold and subtle glittered just around the green orbs. Thor’s stomach made a fluttering leap.

     “Um,” he said elegantly, “Is this your usual haunt?”

     “No,” Loki chuckled, “strictly special occasions here.”

     Something about his tone and carriage was so regal that Thor felt his face flush. He once again had the sinking sensation of being out of his league. It wasn’t familiar to him, not when he was usually the one doing the flustering.

     “That’s you, by the way,” Loki’s eyes flicked in Thor’s direction with a spark of mischief, “special occasion.”

     “I’m flattered,” Thor managed what he thought was a calm smile.

     There was a tinge of pride to Loki’s smile, as if to say, _you should be_. He breathed smoke away from Thor, and the action was so self-possessed and clean that Thor found himself reeling a little. It was hard to reconcile this glamorous, princely man with the fierce, blood-soaked punk in an alley on the bad side of town. They were two separate people. Thor wasn’t sure how to interact with this new vision.

     Loki gave him a curious look and Thor realized they’d stood in silence nearly a minute.

     “Sorry,” Thor said, “you look so different.”

     “Good different, I hope.”

     “Stunning,” Thor answered honestly, and Loki gave a preening shake of the head.

     “Should we go in?” Loki asked him, discarding his cigarette.

     Thor nodded and allowed Loki to lead the way. There was a cover charge, which Loki paid before Thor could protest. The interior of the bar was dark, shadows cast in odd colors by blacklights and neon track lighting of various oranges and blues. Every surface was black and gleaming. The music was chill trance and a little weird. Loki shrugged off his coat and handed it to a waiting hostess, who gave him a tag.

     Thor was absorbed in watching the upscale crowd, wondering if he looked as out of place as he felt. A gentle hand took him by the elbow and pulled him into the wide room, leading him to the expansive round bar, dark and lit from beneath. Loki’s touch was just firm enough to be a little possessive, and a corresponding warm tightness worked its way under Thor’s stomach.

     They reached the bar and Loki had only to half-extend an arm before the bartender practically flew to him, leaning forward to ask what he was drinking. Then the stranger noticed Thor and his smile shrank.

     “The usual and a... mm,” Loki glanced at Thor before saying, “dark n’ stormy.”

     “Sure thing,” the bartender, handsome in his own right, was eyeing Thor as he retrieved glasses for each, “new flame?”

     “Just the drinks, thank you,” came Loki’s crisp reply, but it lacked venom.

     A minute later they had their drinks and were navigating the crowded room to an empty circular booth, where Loki slid around to sit close to Thor.

     “Thought you didn’t come here much,” Thor gestured to the bar.

     Loki sipped benignly at what looked like some kind of screwdriver, “I don’t.”

     “You have a usual?”

     “Oh,” Loki waved a hand casually, “with him, yes.”

     Thor stared in confusion until Loki laid a pacifying hand on his arm, “Let’s not start out the night talking about exes.”

     “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

     “It’s a nice place. I didn’t know he was working here.”

     Thor was watching Loki’s eyes as they flicked down to the small table between them, and surprised himself by saying, “Yes, you did.”

     He won a nervous stare from his date.

     “You don’t have to make me jealous,” Thor blundered on, “I’m already jealous. Is everything going to be a test with you?”

     Loki was regarding him with something like respect. He leaned forward, and Thor had to look anywhere but the intense eyes seeking out his. For the first time, Thor noticed the beadwork on the lapels of Loki’s suit, tiny gold spikes protruding from the shiny fabric.

     “No,” Loki’s hand closed gently around Thor’s jaw, running down his neck to rest between his shirt collar and skin, “I promise.”

     “Good, because I won’t...”

     But he trailed off as he took stock of the way Loki was moving purposefully closer. Unable to help himself, Thor cupped one hand around Loki’s waist and pulled him in. Loki’s lips found his, and Thor lost himself in the sweetness of orange juice and faint trace of smoke. He reached a hand up to Loki’s head, thumb brushing the tip of his ear and combing through his hair. Loki’s fingers tangled themselves at the base of Thor’s neck, pulling slightly and reminding Thor of their first encounter at the Asgard.

     He caught Loki’s lower lip in his teeth. Instantly, Loki’s grip in his hair became violent, and Thor found himself pressed sharply against the booth as Loki wrenched his lip free and trailed his tongue along Thor’s cheek.

     “Save it for later, Odinson,” Loki’s low whisper sent an indulgent chill down Thor’s spine, “the night is so young.”

     And he pulled slowly away, slinking back into a relaxed slouch like a cat who’d caught his dinner. Thor observed the predatory eyes and dangerous smile.

     “You remembered my name?”

     “Why wouldn’t I?” Loki teased, resuming his affair with his drink. Thor watched the way his lips curved, and was rewarded by the sight of Loki’s tongue making a slow semicircle around the edge of the glass. Thor’s throat tensed involuntarily and Loki laughed at him.

     “Because I don’t know yours.”

     “You will,” came the flippant reply, “tell me something about you. Something I don’t know.”

     “Uh,” Thor was amazed to find his mind totally blank, “I... okay, I live in Fells. One-bedroom, exposed brick. A bitch to heat in the winter.”

     Loki was smiling patiently but Thor got the impression this was all very boring information.

     “I used to be a fighter. Wasn’t really good enough to go pro so I quit that and... modeled for awhile. Moved here and started working at the Asgard. And I’m boring you to death, I can tell.”

     This got a snort of laughter from Loki, who drained his glass, “I did ask.”

     “Well... when I was a kid I wanted to be Hercules.”

     Loki raised an eyebrow, “And then you read the stories and thought, not such a good plan?”

     For the first time since they’d sat down, Thor picked up his drink, “Not really. I ended up going a different direction. Probably should’ve been a cop or something.”

     “You’d be a terrible cop,” Loki spun his empty glass on the table.

     “You think I couldn’t shoot someone?” Thor was only half joking.

     Loki inclined his head, “You wouldn’t be able to leave it at work.”

     Falling silent, Thor took a swig of his drink, carbonation burning pleasantly at the raw corners of his mouth. Eventually he nodded.

     “Your turn,” he tapped Loki’s hand with a finger, “something about you.”

     Loki sat up and leaned on the table, eyes downcast and displaying the thin layer of gold glitter brushed across the lids.

     “Mm, about me,” his smile had a wry edge to it.

     “Other than Scorpio,” Thor said, and Loki gave him an odd look, “that was the single thing you told me the night we first met.”

     “Oh,” Loki balanced his chin in one hand, “I have four tattoos.”

     Thor waited but he left it at that, smiling tantalizingly.

     “Will I get to see them?” Thor hooked his index finger around Loki’s pinky.

     “Maybe.”

     Thor gave him a stormy expression and Loki laughed an honest, open laugh that caused Thor to slide closer. They remained close for the rest of the evening, exchanging facts and dodging ugly truths, with Loki occasionally making trips to the bar. Finally, as Thor played with the buttons on Loki’s sleeve, the sharpness of those green eyes faded to a hazy glow. Loki stood abruptly, tugging Thor by the hand.

     “Let’s go.”

     “Where?” Thor stood, and his vision duplicated the table several times.

     “Your place.”  



End file.
